


press you to the pages of my heart

by wardo_wedidit



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Baby Pictures, Blow Jobs, Communication, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Long Hair, M/M, Post-Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 21:06:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18978352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardo_wedidit/pseuds/wardo_wedidit
Summary: "Patrick doesn’t say anything, but his hair stops looking like a wavy mop with just a couple discernible curls and starts looking more defined, more put-together, more… lush. He works his fingers through it in the mornings, when his skin is still pink from a hot shower and the mirror is steamy, trying to get it to the just-right level of tousled that he likes. David watches him greedily from the bed, face still pressed into his pillow and blinking open one eye and then the other has he slowly wakes. It all looks, just,unfairlygood on him. Every day, no matter where they are or what they’re doing, David is basically always itching to get his hands in it."Or, Patrick lets his hair get long and curly, and David loses his goddamn mind. A fic about histories, communication, and of course, hair-pulling.





	press you to the pages of my heart

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a fun, quick PWP that I worked on when I needed a break from my exchange fic. Now we're like 8k later, it took twice as long as expected, and there's a lot of emotional backstory and only one sex scene. I am sorry for being the way that I am. 
> 
> If you haven't seen Noah Reid with curly hair, [what are you even doing](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/D5m5eHqXoAIKeDH.jpg).
> 
> Thank you to Cali for being the one to initially implant this idea in my brain until I had to write it because it just wouldn't leave. And thank you to everyone in the SC Discord for listening to me whine about writing this and giving me your opinions when needed! I love our lil community so much. 
> 
> Title from the new, iconic [Carly Rae Jepsen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ELzgEvk31dk).

David wakes up one morning, rolls over to look at Patrick, and there is a perfect curl falling gently over Patrick’s forehead and onto his pillow. 

He literally startles out of bed. 

He also lets out something that Patrick will later _claim_ is a scream, but in reality is more of a… yelp? A shriek? A justified reaction for the situation, whatever the word. 

Patrick jumps awake, scrambling for the sheets around him, his face pillow-rumpled and eyes unfocused. “What, what?” he asks, whipping his head around as if to look for an intruder—there was that time David had woken him up to get rid of a moth, so maybe this is justified too. 

“Stay there!” David demands, fumbling for his phone with shaky hands. “Patrick, I swear, don’t move.” 

Patrick freezes, eyes narrowing slightly like he’s starting to put together that there aren’t any insects or burglars. “David, what’s going on?”

He shakes his head determinedly, clicking away, but the angle is wrong and the light is behind him, so none of the photos are coming out right. He gets on his knees on the bed and tries again, closer this time. David loves the apartment they moved into a couple months ago (especially the upgraded closet space) but he has to admit that in Patrick’s old place, the bed was in a better location for well-lit pictures. 

Patrick sets his jaw. “David, you have five seconds to tell me what’s going on before I lose my mind.” 

When he speaks, his voice is higher-pitched and more hysterical than he wants it to be, and his hands flail helplessly around. “You just weren’t going to tell me you have curly hair! You were just gonna keep that one inside and not warn me about it. What if I woke up one day and didn’t recognize you, and had to run screaming out of the apartment?”

Patrick is still for a second, and his mouth opens, and then closes, and then works its way into something close to a smile before he shoves his face into his hands, rubbing tiredly over his features. “Oh my god.” 

“I just wake up and—that curl! How am I supposed to react to that!”

“How about by not yelling at seven o’clock in the morning, David?”

“You’ve been hiding _curls_! I mean, I didn’t yell, but if I had, it would have been an understandable reaction—” 

Patrick groans into his hands, falling back onto the mattress. “I can’t believe you.” 

“You _know_ hair is important to me!” David protests, fumbling back under the sheets. 

And it is; he has given Patrick nothing but positive reinforcement at every turn when he started to let his hair get long. He could tell it was mostly because Patrick just hadn’t been thinking about it lately more than it was an actual style choice, but he _did_ seem to like it. David’s caught him fussing with it in the mirror, trying to get it just so but also preening slightly, reveling in the new look, and it had sent a rush of warmth running through him.

He also thinks that Patrick likes that David likes it. He goes kind of boneless when they’re sitting on the couch watching a movie and David knots his fingers into the long strands at the back of his neck, tugs gently. Smirks up at David when he works his hands in it tentatively when Patrick’s blowing him, helpless and desperate. Has caught David looking at it sort of dreamily when the store is slow, unfocused and expression slack. Patrick always smirks at him, like he knows, and David flushes because he feels so silly, staring at his literal _husband_ like he’s a high school crush. Not that he would do anything different. 

But before this very moment, it had always been just _wavy_. There is a world of difference between wavy and curly. And David honestly hadn’t considered that one might lead to the other.

Now, he tugs Patrick’s hands away from his face as he wiggles in closer. Patrick shoots him a decidedly unimpressed look, but David can’t help himself. 

“Patrick,” he says, his voice soft, biting down on a smile as he speaks. “You have _curls_.” 

The high points of Patrick’s cheeks go a little pink, and David feels himself go warm and bright inside as Patrick pulls him on top and kisses him thoroughly. “It always does this, when it gets long,” he mumbles generously into David’s skin as he kisses along his collarbone. 

“ _Always?_ ” David squawks before he can help himself, and Patrick throws his head back and laughs, eyes crinkling shut, gorgeous. And then David is scrambling off him, grabbing for his forgotten phone in the tangle of sheets, murmuring a fervent _fuck_ as he reaches for it because The Curl is in perfect position again, and this time he’s going to get a good picture; he’s determined. 

“David—”

“Just wait one second,” he says, his voice kind of choked, embarrassingly enough. “Hold still.”

Patrick does with kind, patient eyes and a soft, overwhelmed smile, before he sighs heavily and pulls David back in. David only protests for a second before he is being too thoroughly kissed to care.

 

//

 

“Did you know my husband has curly hair?” he asks Alexis a little bit smugly when she swans into the store that morning, looking for bath bombs. 

She barely glances up from the one she’s inspecting so closely, and honestly, it’s _David’s store_ , does she really think any of these are going to give her a rash? “I’m sorry, did _you_ not know? David, he’s been growing it out since before the wedding, it’s been wavy for—”

“Not everyone with wavy hair gets completely curly!” he protests. “Maybe it was just going to stay wavy, how should I know, why should I—”

Alexis winces, shooting him a worried face, and god, this is so not the reaction he wanted from her. Why did he even bother? “Um, just be careful, David? If you don’t like the curly hair you should probably like, talk about it. Hair is _definitely_ something you should communicate about, it’s very important. Mutt and I broke up because he shaved his beard without warning me.” 

She tips her chin up at that a little defensively, and David squints at her, skeptical. “Okay, first of all, me not liking the curls is _not_ the problem. And secondly, didn’t you and Mutt break up because you had, like, _nothing_ in common?”

“Um, no, David!” she whines, stomping her foot a little as she brings her selections over to the counter. “We broke up because even though our sexual chemistry was like, _so_ intense, we just weren’t good at communicating with each other. But we had stuff in common.”

David rings up her bath bombs, giving her a discount even if she doesn’t deserve it. “Name one thing.” 

Alexis huffs at him, like it’s obvious and he should know. “Um, bikes? Remember?” 

David rolls his eyes hard. “ _Bikes?_ As in, you’d never ridden one in your life, but for some reason he thought it was a good idea to buy you one and teach you?”

“Yes! And then I taught you, remember, so maybe don’t be so bitchy about it!” she says, wiggling her head at him as she hands him her card. He finishes the transaction without saying anything, because she has clearly proven she is not the ideal audience for this revelation. 

“Thank you,” she finally says as he hands her her bag. “And David? Don’t forget, _ground rules_ about the hair, and communication,” she insists, pointing at him with her forefinger and jabbing it in his direction for emphasis. 

“Go take a bath with your hair dryer, Alexis,” he calls after her as she leaves. 

 

//

 

“Did you know Patrick’s hair is curly when it gets long enough?” he tries again as he walks into the motel office over lunch that afternoon. 

“Hello to you too,” Stevie says with a small, wry smile. “And yes, I did know that.” 

“ _What?_ ” 

She smirks. “Yeah, I saw it in his baby picture.” 

“ _Baby_ picture?”

Stevie lets out a long-suffering sigh. “In _Cabaret_ rehearsals with your mom, we did an exercise about speaking to our ‘inner child’ while acting. Everyone had to bring in a baby picture for it. Patrick had curly hair in his.” She takes in David’s wide eyes and open mouth, and quirks her head to the side. “You two really don’t talk about your histories, do you?”

The words sting even though she clearly doesn’t intend them to, as does the realization that he’s never seen a single baby picture of his husband. It’s not like Patrick’s seen any of David either, but it’s a weird thing to think about, and it creates a knot of anxiety in his gut. 

“Okay, so I’m going to need to see your baby picture immediately,” he says, putting aside everything else for a minute, like he could possibly ignore the way it makes him feel squirmy inside. 

Her face goes mischievous, a glint in her eye and slant to her smile that he will always feel so fond of. “I think we can make that happen in exchange for… three bottles of wine from the store.” 

David rolls his eyes, fiddling with the still-broken bell at the front desk. “We do talk about that stuff,” he says hesitantly, which is true. After the Jake thing and the Rachel thing they’d discussed the important stuff, but mostly they try to stay in the present whenever possible. They’ve gotten better about it, can ask things like _what were you like in high school_ or share little anecdotes. But there’s still a part of David that wants to avoid the way Patrick’s face goes a little bit pinched when he mentions an ex offhand who treated him terribly. And obviously, judging by Patrick’s reactions, it’s not the most comfortable topic for him either. “We just… it’s different.” 

He can’t put words to it yet. It’s still a knotted-up, tense feeling in the pit of his stomach when he thinks about it, so he’s glad when Stevie nods in the corner of his view but doesn’t push, shuffling around some papers and saying so casually, “I mean, you’ve literally got the rest of your lives. There’s no rush.” 

“Mm,” he hums noncommittally, corners of his mouth tilting up against his will, the way they always do when he thinks about how he’s going to spend forever with Patrick. They’ve been married for months now, but he still feels giddy when he thinks about it. It’s a nice chaser to his earlier anxiety. “So even my _mom_ knows Patrick has curly hair?”

Stevie gives him a knowing look. “Yeah, sure, she _definitely_ remembers that.” 

Which, well. Fair point.

“David!” his father says excitedly as he enters from the backroom. “Well, what brings you here on a Monday afternoon?” 

Before David even has a chance to answer, Stevie pivots to his dad with an impish look. “David’s discovered that Patrick has secretly been hiding curly hair.” David shoots her a death glare, but he thinks at this point she’s built up an immunity to them because she just shrugs, pleased with herself. 

His father’s eyebrows go up, a happy smile sliding easily onto his features, almost _proud_ , which is so silly and so perfectly his dad that David’s can’t take it. “Curly hair! Well, isn’t that exciting! How wonderful that you still have things to learn about each other, with your whole lives ahead of you—” 

“Okay, I have to go, your sincerity is giving me a rash,” David says, turning towards the door, but not before he sees his dad give a deep sigh and a resigned eye roll. Stevie beams next to him, giving him a little sarcastic wave. He gives her his middle finger in response. 

 

// 

 

David tries not to think about it too much over the next couple days, though he does keep careful watch over the perfect, delicate curl on Patrick’s head. Later in the week when Patrick’s run to the cafe to pick up lunch, David plucks some of the organic, curl-defining shampoo and conditioner off the top shelves, even paying for it discreetly when no one’s looking. He thinks he can get away with it; Patrick’s generally pretty discombobulated in the mornings. He doesn’t think that he’ll notice if David steals his Head & Shoulders out of the shower—he’s always rotating in and out samples of product for the store, anyway, so it shouldn’t be that suspicious. 

Sure enough, Patrick doesn’t say anything, but his hair stops looking like a wavy mop with just a couple discernible curls and starts looking more defined, more put-together, more… lush. He works his fingers through it in the mornings, when his skin is still pink from a hot shower and the mirror is steamy, trying to get it to the just-right level of tousled that he likes. David watches him greedily from the bed, face still pressed into his pillow and blinking open one eye and then the other has he slowly wakes. It all looks, just, _unfairly_ good on him. Every day, no matter where they are or what they’re doing, David is basically always itching to get his hands in it. He’s taken to pressing his hands into desperate little fists at his sides to control himself, nails biting into his palms.

One night they’re watching TV on the couch (or maybe more accurately, Patrick is watching baseball and David is scrolling through his phone), when all of a sudden, he hears a soft chuckle from Patrick. It’s the laugh David thinks of as _his_ : soft and overcome and a little bit teasing, so his head turns automatically to see what caused it. 

“What?” he asks. He sees Patrick is a little flushed, grinning like there’s a private joke happening that he hasn’t yet shared. 

“David,” he says, patient and mocking all at once before flicking his eyes back, and that’s when David notices his fingers are tangled in Patrick’s hair. 

“Oh,” he says, letting go immediately, feeling a little bit embarrassed. He’s been trying to keep a game face about Patrick’s hair, or as much of one as he can, but clearly he just doesn’t have that kind of self control. “Sorry, I didn’t even realize I was—” 

“ _David,_ ” Patrick says again, weary as he rolls his eyes. “It’s fine, I don’t mind it.” 

“Yeah,” David replies noncommittally, tone neutral and eyes stubbornly down on his phone screen with no intention of moving. 

“Hey,” Patrick says, reaching out for the hand David just drew back and tugging, using it to get closer. David goes, body yielding, as he lets Patrick pull him in so they’re angled in towards each other. Patrick’s looking at him like he knows exactly what David’s doing, trying to avoid him like this. His smile small and secret, “Would you stop? I like it, it feels good, I just think it’s cute.” 

David feels his breath hitch in his chest ridiculously. “Yeah?”

Patrick nods, insistent, biting his lip slightly. “Mhm. I really like how much you like it,” he says, and closes the space between them, kissing David with reassurance and heat and tongue, like _he’s_ the one who can’t get enough, somehow. David lets out a soft little sound into his mouth, hand moving to comb his nails through the dark curls at the nape of his neck, a little bit roughly. Patrick makes an encouraging sound, smiling into it just a little before he’s steadying his hands on David’s chest, palms warm and firm against his sweater, and then he’s pressing David down. 

He gasps into it a little, legs falling open as Patrick clambers between them, lips behind David’s ear and sucking right _there_ , right at the spot that always makes David whimper and roll his hips, instinctual. Patrick’s curls tickle the side of his face, and it’s such a nice contrast to the burn of stubble against his skin that David shivers, knows Patrick can feel it too. 

“Mm, you need it, don’t you?” Patrick murmurs, voice low and sexy, and David nods helplessly, already so turned on after so little. It’s Patrick’s confidence, and the way he lets David just—just _touch_ him, like he’s his to touch whenever he wants, unconscious. It’s so fucking hot, but at the same time it fills David with the most permanent kind of warmth, something too big and fuzzy settling in his chest. 

“Fuck yes, Patrick,” he manages when he’s able to form words after a minute. “Fuck, I need it, are you gonna give it to me?”

“Yeah, god,” Patrick breathes back, moving back to kiss his lips again, desperate and messy with wanting. “I’m gonna give you what you need, David,” he says, and David makes a high-pitched, needy sound he can’t contain. 

Patrick kisses him much longer than David needs, hands roaming all over his body even though they’re both still fully clothed, their hips undulating against each other until David is straining against his skinny jeans, uncomfortable. He’s whining, wants Patrick’s hands on his skin but also loves the slow, maddening build of it. Patrick makes him feel like a teenager instead of a married man in his mid-thirties, and fuck if it isn’t the best, most wonderful thing. 

“Can you, can you—” he tries, not even knowing what exactly he’s asking for, but then Patrick is nipping at what he can get at of David’s collarbone and his hands are fumbling for David’s belt, then his button, then his zip, finally pulling him out of his boxer-briefs. David draws his knees up, trembling, and Patrick lowers himself so his head is between them, breathing hot over David’s cock. He gives David a seductive, lingering look as he takes him into his mouth. 

David lets out a cry, unable to help himself, and he doesn’t know if it’s the warmth or the suction or the way Patrick’s looking at him from under his lashes, the way his cheeks hollow. He goes slow at first, teasing, licking over the head and tonguing over the slit. But Patrick has gotten so fucking good at this, knows exactly how long to torment him before wrapping his hand around the base, working his hand up to meet his mouth. He goes deeper little by little, sucking hard. 

David loves to watch Patrick concentrate when he sucks dick. As someone who loves doing it himself, he appreciates the way Patrick’s enthusiasm is matched with a determination to improve, to see if he can make David come faster or better than the last time. He loves the little furrow between his brows and the way he takes it so seriously, loves to watch Patrick’s face, catch the delighted eyes at the sounds he can get David to make and the way his face seems to catalogue every last one of David’s reactions, like he wants to get them into a spreadsheet and analyze them, hungry for it. 

But there is something so, so incredibly hot about seeing Patrick’s curls between his legs. 

They’re less tame than they were before, already loose and wild from David’s touch earlier, but now he can’t help it—he reaches down, tangles his fingers in Patrick’s hair, and tugs. 

Patrick lets out a gorgeous, frantic sound: surprised but turned-on and _wanting_ , and David thinks that maybe Patrick was underplaying it a little bit, earlier, when he said he liked it. Because that sound… that sound felt like something that’s been folded up inside him for a while, just waiting to be let out. 

David pulls again, slow but deliberate this time, testing, and Patrick groans around his cock, the vibrations making David shake. His eyes flick up at David and god, if he didn’t currently have a cock in his mouth he would be smirking, David can tell. He gives another tug, sharp, and Patrick’s eyelashes flutter on his cheeks as he bobs his head back down, sucking long and luxurious in response. It becomes a game, both of them caught in the tease of it, to see who can draw the best noises out of the other person, like a physical version of their banter, and it’s doing it for David so much. 

Finally, Patrick pulls nearly all the way off, tilting his head back into David’s touch, and then goes as far down as he can take him without choking, wet and sucking hard, his fist meeting his mouth and David comes, crying out louder than he has any right to on their couch on a random Wednesday evening. He scrapes his nails against Patrick’s scalp and pulls hard without even thinking about it, and Patrick moans as he swallows, working him through the aftershocks. 

He pulls off and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, panting, eyes wild and hands shaking a little bit. David is still a little wobbly from his own orgasm, the rolling wave of sensation still sparking through him, but he makes an urgent sound and reaches for him, moving to sit up himself. He kisses Patrick, tasting himself in his mouth as he fumbles to get his hands on his cock. 

Patrick is already fully hard and slick with precome, keening into David’s touch and whimpering against his lips. “Fuck, that really did it for you, huh,” David breathes, looking down between them and trying not to feel too pleased with himself. 

“Yes,” Patrick gasps, hips jerking up into David’s touch as he swipes over the head. “Fuck, David, yes—” 

“What did you like?” he asks, voice a low murmur, because he still can’t get enough of Patrick figuring it out, discovering what he likes and what he wants and what he needs, and everything in between. 

“I feel, I felt like you,” he gasps, moving to hide his face in David’s neck. David can feel the heat radiating off his cheeks and allows himself to grin fully, since Patrick can’t see right now. 

“You felt like me?”

“Yeah,” he says, the word hitching in the middle, caught halfway in a whine. “I always, I always put my hands in your hair when you sucked me, and I never, I never knew what that felt like to be on the other end of that, how good it felt, David, please,” he moans, begging now, and David works him faster, harder. Nothing teasing in it, just giving it to him, like a reward for articulating the things that make him feel good. 

“I love it too,” David whispers against his cheek. “I love your hands in my hair, how you just can’t help it, moving my head the way you want. It’s so good, Patrick, you’re so good,” he says, voice raw and full of feeling. It’s a side effect of how much he loves Patrick, surely, that he can feel so tender and protective and yearning, even now, when this is a lived-in, comfortable thing. Patrick groans, moves his head to suck a hickey into David’s neck. David shivers where he’s pressed against him, helpless. Patrick bites down and David cries out, the pain and the pleasure of it so fucking good, and Patrick comes, shuddering against him. 

They untangle themselves after a moment, Patrick pressing a quick kiss to David’s neck as he moves away, and David tries to catch his breath. Patrick grins at him like he’s just as undone, panting, head lolling as he flops back onto the couch as he tucks himself away. “I told you,” he says, something so _cute_ in his voice that it makes David groan slightly, overcome. “I told you, I think it feels good.” 

“I think you were downplaying it on purpose,” David accuses, all fake petulance. 

“You’re the one who’s just now taking advantage of this, even though I’ve been growing it out for months,” Patrick says, shrugging, reaching for the box of tissues on the side table and handing them to David. “It’s been wavy for what, a couple weeks now, at least—” 

“Shut _up,_ ” David grumbles, because if he has to hear this again he’s going to lose his mind. Patrick laughs like he knows, and presses an easy, brief kiss to David’s temple. 

 

//

 

David doesn’t feel _quite_ as embarrassed about being obsessed with Patrick’s curls after that. Still, he’s fixated on them enough that he guiltily texts his mother-in-law, making up a baby shower the store is throwing and asking for a picture for a guessing game. Being the utter and complete sweetheart that she is, Marcy Brewer sends him ten, _just so you can find the perfect one, dear!_. 

Patrick’s out doing pickups that afternoon, and thank god David is alone in the store when he gets them. He scrolls through them fast, not letting himself concentrate too much on any particular one the first time through, but it’s still really overwhelming and he has to flop down on the register counter and let out a mortifying little squeal. 

It’s really incredible, he thinks, the pure warmth and fondness he feels radiating through him looking at these pictures. It’s really _too much_ , he just wants to swallow them whole, lock them up in his heart, or hug Patrick tight for no explicable reason until all this emotion calms down a little. He thumbs through them slower then, allowing himself to look and catch little details. 

They all seem to range between two and five years old, and all of them feature light, curly hair that occasionally falls into his face. There’s one of him in a tiny little suit, bowtie and all, straight-backed as he sits at a piano bench, concentration evident in his face. A younger snap of him in his underwear, clutching a marker in each hand, all of his visible skin covered in scribbles even as he grins mischievously at the camera. In David’s personal favorite, he’s maybe four: he’s smiling wide in the sun, a too-big baseball cap on his head and falling down over one eye. Patrick still smiles that way, sometimes, and thinking that makes David’s heart feel like it might burst out of his chest, unable to contain everything he feels but still wanting more. 

He feels guilty for lying, though, and for going behind Patrick’s back to get them. He doesn’t think Patrick would object—actually, he’s pretty sure Patrick would find it kind of cute—but it just seems like the kind of thing he shouldn’t be flustered to ask for. He’s not sure why he is, honestly. It’s almost a relief when a customer comes in, looking for a tea tree moisturizer, and sometimes David is soothed by other people’s incorrect-ness; he’s able to concentrate on rehauling her entire skin care routine to target her dry patches and gets a mental break. 

Still, he and Marcy continue to text throughout the week, just checking in, fond and friendly updates that sometimes weave into conversations. Patrick peeks over his shoulder one night when they’re cleaning up dinner, a look of surprise crossing briefly over his face. 

“You’re texting my mom about Josh Groban?” 

“Um, among other things,” David replies, as if it’s obvious. “I was filling her in about his fling with Alexis. He actually was quite a gentleman. One of her better choices, in my book.” 

Patrick chuckles as he hands a plate to David to try, amused. “No, you don’t have to explain, it’s fine. I know you talk to her, she’s just more of a phone call person. She only learned how to use emojis a few months ago, actually.” 

“Well, I am a riveting conversationalist,” David teases, preening a little as he angles in for a kiss. Patrick rolls his eyes fondly but gives him one anyway. It’s short but familiar, sweet, and David tries to memorize the way he moves his head to flick his hair off his forehead as he returns to the task at hand. 

“Actually,” he tries, eyes suddenly laser-focused on making sure there’s not a single drop of water lingering on this plate like it’s the most important task in the world, “She was saying earlier that we should come visit. You know, we’ve never been to see them.” 

At first, David’s not quite sure how this suggestion’s going to go down. He knows Patrick loves and misses his family; he was so touched and overcome by them at the wedding. But as long as David’s known him, he really hasn’t really expressed a desire to visit home. His parents came out for his surprise party, to help with wedding planning here or there, and then for the day itself, but David’s never gotten to see the house Patrick grew up in, his childhood bedroom, his hometown. 

He wants it, stupidly. He wants the Patrick Brewer nostalgia tour, all the little _this is where I had my first kiss_ and _this is the view I woke up to every morning_ moments. The little glimpse he’s gotten of Patrick’s history has just made him crave more. 

Patrick’s face is a little bit shy at first, but then a hopeful smile blooms over his features and David feels disproportionately triumphant. It’s absolutely wild how sometimes Patrick can make it all feel new again, like he lives and dies for Patrick’s smiles, like they’re just starting something instead of two people who have been _married_ for a few months now. “I think that’d be really nice,” he says softly, and David grins, puts down the plate in his hands to get his hands on Patrick’s hips and back him up against the countertops. Patrick is pliant, his hands wet and a little soapy from the dishwater and David can feel it through his thin t-shirt, but he doesn’t mind it one bit.

 

//

 

David knows which one is Patrick’s house as soon as they turn onto the street. It’s a quiet little two-story with navy blue trim and shutters, and a big bay window at the front. There’s an old, tall tree in the yard. David can see warm yellow lights on inside, and he feels at home immediately. 

Patrick parks by the curb, making an anxious-excited face as he turns the car off. “Ready?” he asks, but David is nodding before he ever gets the word out. 

They go to get their bags from the trunk and when David looks up, Marcy is running across the lawn, wrapping David in a warm hug before he even has time to say hello. He hugs her back, and then she’s pulling away and patting his cheek with her hand, so fond, and he blushes. “Thank you for convincing my boy to come home,” she says, sincere, and David feels his eyes sting a little bit. But then she’s moving, going to hug Patrick, and he drops the two bags he’s holding for his mother’s embrace and David feels his chest tighten. 

He knows histories are hard, and that families are harder, and that when you’ve changed and worked for your happiness the way they have, you don’t always jump at the chance to revisit the places where you felt anything less than. But he watches Patrick hug his mom, eyes shiny with tears, and feels more convinced than ever that they can face them _together_ , that they can hold each other’s hands and push each other to face yesterday’s monsters, revealing them now to be nothing more than ordinary trees.

 

//

 

They eat a delicious home cooked meal around the Brewer family dining room table, chatting happily about the store and what’s new in town. Marcy talks about work: she’s a school guidance counselor and David pictures himself younger, seeking solace in her office, is absolutely convinced she’s excellent at it. Clint is apparently locked in a months-long battle with some squirrels camped out in the attic and walks David through the saga as Marcy rolls her eyes fondly. Patrick beats his dad to the punchlines, like he’s heard it all dozens of times already, but by the end of the story David is laughing so hard he’s nearly crying. It’s so close and comfortable—it feels like they’ve been doing this for years instead of returning after a long while away. 

After everything is cleaned up, Clint takes Patrick for a walk around the block, wanting to fill him in on all the neighbor’s renovations. “They’re the watchers of the neighborhood, it’s ridiculous,” Patrick mutters to David under his breath, in a deeply affectionate tone of voice. 

Marcy waits for them to leave and then takes David’s hand, leading him over to the couch. “I don’t want to embarrass him,” she explains as she pulls three photo albums, each of them nearly bursting, out of a large wooden cabinet. 

“Oh my god,” David breathes, and Marcy shoots him a doting look like she thinks that’s adorable. Up close, he can see that they’re all labelled by year and stacked newest to oldest. 

“Clint organizes them. It’s the accountant in him, I think, he’s meticulous about it,” she says, and David imagines Patrick ten or fifteen years from now, hunched over the kitchen table, painstakingly labelling and arranging photos from their life together. “You’ll have to let me know as soon as the wedding photos come in, David, he’ll want to make all kinds of copies,” she continues, disrupting him from his thoughts, and David nods, tracing his finger lightly along the first page. 

It’s the most recent album, Patrick in his teen years. He gasps a little to see that they all feature dark, unruly curls. Here is Patrick on a stage, singing into a microphone and playing his guitar. Here he is in a baseball uniform, grinning wide. Here he is with Rachel, his tie matched to her dress, putting a corsage on her wrist. He lingers on one of Patrick sitting on a beach, gazing out at the water, face open and vulnerable. His fingers trace where his curls fall at the nape of his neck over the plastic protective sheet. 

Marcy notices. “So, you like the curls?” she asks with a gentle smile, voice hushed as if it’s a secret. 

“ _Yes,_ ” David says immediately, almost too emphatically for the situation, but Marcy just laughs. 

“Me too,” she agrees, gazing down at the picture lovingly. “I’d missed them.”

“They just make him look so… soft,” David admits. He’d loved Patrick with uncompromising short hair the way it had been at Ray’s, and he’d loved it when it got slightly longer too—when it had started to go a little messy sometimes, like when he just woke up, or on the hike when he’d proposed. But there’s something in them now that just matches his personality so well, makes David feel tender and protective. 

Clint and Patrick return maybe fifteen minutes later, after he and Marcy have switched to the baby album. He’s looking at a [picture](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bx0fmw0B5Ix/) of Patrick at maybe two, blonde hair shining in the sun, little curls around his ears, and his expression is caught somewhere between mischievousness and seriousness. David jumps when he hears the door open, and his instinct is to put them all away as quickly as he can, but Marcy doesn’t move and David follows her lead. 

“Oh,” Patrick says when he sees what’s happening, something a little bit surprised and uncomfortable in the word, and David squirms. 

“I’m sorry, honey, but it’s David’s first time here and you _know_ I couldn’t resist showing your husband—” she says, tone sweet and a little teasing before Patrick cuts her off. 

“Mom, it’s fine,” he says, but his tone is saying he’s not fine, and he’s a little paler than he was earlier. David worries at his lip and tries to send Patrick apologetic, pleading eyes. “Go ahead, Dad was just gonna show me, um. Didn’t you want to show me your new work bench, out in the garage?” he says, and he nearly flees the room. 

They close the albums shortly after that. It doesn’t feel as fun or heartwarming anymore, seeing the way Patrick had reacted. “Don’t worry, he’s just being shy,” she assures him, patting him on the arm, but David feels queasy and can only eat one and a half slices of the pie she made for dessert, instead of the three he would normally be able to handle.

 

//

 

Patrick’s old bedroom has been converted into Marcy’s office, so David and Patrick stay in the guest room down the hall. David can tell Patrick feels a little weird about it: he relocates their bags three times before David puts a soothing hand on his shoulder and murmurs, “It’s fine.” Patrick shoots him a grateful look, like he knows what David means, and goes to brush his teeth. 

David gives him a moment, opting to sit on the edge of the bed and stare up at the ceiling, thinking about Patrick staring up at this view when he was a teenager. Sure, he was in a different room, but it’s the same color, same texture. Did he think about the boys on his hockey team? Or listen hard for any noise coming from his parents’ room, so he could sneak out and go to parties? He’s a little bit surprised to find he wants to know, even if parts of the answer are painful to hear. 

“Did you and Rachel never stay here?” David asks, after he’s brushed his own teeth and applied his travel skincare routine. He can hear the uncertainty in his own voice, which isn’t made any better by the fact that Patrick sort of startles at the question. 

“Uh, no,” he replies after a brief pause, concentrating on pulling back the covers and sliding into bed. He’s wearing a tiny little confused frown. “She had an apartment like, fifteen minutes away, so.” 

David gives a jerky nod, still standing frozen in the middle of the room, arms across his chest. Patrick finally looks up at him again and is wearing an unsure kind of look. 

“It must be kind of nice,” David says, trying for casual. “Being able to have a place to come back to. Even if it’s changed.” 

Patrick winces slightly, so small David isn’t even sure he notices it himself, at first. But then Patrick’s saying “Uh, yeah,” in that tone of voice that David knows is totally a brush-off, and why is he doing this? What is he afraid of? Is he afraid David won’t care, is he afraid David won’t be able to relate? 

He takes a deep breath. “We can talk about it, you know,” he says, but that just makes Patrick’s face go more perplexed. “I mean, I know we’ve talked about the big stuff. But like. You can talk about growing up here, or your old job, or…” He shrugs, feeling lost. “I’d listen.” 

When he looks up at Patrick, he’s looking at David like he’s torn, like he aches. “I’m sorry,” he manages, turning his attention to the hem of the sheet and fiddling with it. “I know I was weird today, with the photo albums, I just—it can be awkward. I don’t know what to say, sometimes.” 

David squeezes his eyes shut hard, willing his brain not to play an instant montage of every time Patrick’s ever shied away from a personal question, every time he’s flinched at one of David’s offhand comments about his old life that were really aimed at getting a laugh. “I get that, um. Sometimes it’s a lot? Hearing the details of stuff. Especially my stuff, past hookups and bad choices and whatever, but. It’s not all that? There were parts that were good,” he says, and he forces his eyes open. He thinks maybe that’s what he was trying to get at with this, though he didn’t know for sure until it was coming out of his mouth. 

“David,” Patrick says, and he sounds and looks so _sorry_. “I didn’t mean… I’d listen to whatever you want to tell me, too. The good or the bad, whatever. It’s just that I know—I know it’s hard for you to share parts of your old life,” he admits. “And our lives before we met were so _different_. But my reactions aren’t because I’m judging you ever, I promise. I just, I don’t want to shove that in your face, and I don’t want to push, but more than anything I don’t want you to hurt.” Patrick looks up at David plaintively, shrugging a little like he can’t help it. David holds his breath, because it’s kind of rare that Patrick gets on a roll this way, not to mention the fact that he couldn’t think of anything to say in response right now if he tried.

He barrels on, eyes flitting away to fix on his hands, limp in his lap. “I don’t want you to have to think about the people who hurt you, or even the good things you had that got taken from you. I don’t want my history—the good or the bad of it—to whip you back into a part of your life you’d rather not remember.” 

David holds himself tighter, nails digging into his shoulder blades. “I don’t think about it,” he confesses quietly, kind of pitiful. Patrick shoots him a skeptical look, and David darts his eyes away. “I promise I don’t, Patrick, I—I love the life we have, I love you, and I’m not, I’m not constantly thinking about everything I left behind me.” He wishes he could say more or explain better, even prove it somehow, but he can’t think of how he would do that. 

Patrick sighs, frustrated, looking down at his hands. “I don’t know, David,” he says, voice kind of small. “I mean—how? _I_ think about it. Even with the photo albums today, all I could think about was how it’s another part of something that’s different for you, something you lost.” He looks heartbroken, curled in on himself, and David thinks _Oh_ like a punch in the gut, wonders frantically what he did in a past life to deserve him—this kind, lovely man who’s willing to hurt on his behalf. 

The feeling distracts him, so the fact that there’s something wrong with that sentence takes a minute to register. He can feel his expression turning into something else, something bright and almost… excited. “So—” he tries, trying to hold his smile in. “So, wait, you thought…” 

Patrick looks at him quizzically, face slowly changing as he realizes David knows something he doesn’t. “David, what—what do you mean?” he asks, sounding curious, and David shakes his head. He can’t _wait,_ he can’t wait for this, because Patrick is going to lose his mind and even if it’s something David tends not to think about, doesn’t want to share with the whole world, Patrick’s going to love it. Why didn’t David think of this before, how could he not have? He’s an idiot, he’s _such_ an idiot, god. 

“Hold on, let me show you,” he says, getting on his side of the bed and thumbing through his phone. He feels like he could vibrate out of his skin, he’s so giddy about this. Patrick’s still too far away, though, so David scoots closer, pressing himself insistently along Patrick’s side. 

“See, my mom used to have an office in our house,” he says, clicking through a maze of folders. “But then she wanted a space for her wigs, and my dad said that was fine, as long as the space came from her office.” He hits a file folder named simply _David_ , and a million little boxes pull up. “So, she made some room, but then they kept expanding until eventually she took everything over and the room became a wig room. She trashed or recycled most of the old stuff, but my dad made sure to have all these digitized before she could accidentally throw them in with something else to get tossed and lose them.”

He hits a box, and a [picture](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bw7xwTGJbZe/) loads of a tiny David, no more than two, in a rainbow striped t-shirt, a tornado of brown baby curls, and a pair of white sunglasses that are much too big for his face. He feels Patrick relax against him and decides to brave a look at his face. He finds his expression is softer than David’s maybe ever seen, save for their wedding. “David, oh my god,” he says in an awed, gentle voice, reaching for the phone and zooming in. 

David presses his lips together, fighting a smile. Patrick swipes, and a [picture](https://www.instagram.com/p/BetBzAqgGnn/) of David in overalls appears, face toward the sun and squinting, backs of his hands pressed dramatically to his forehead. The [next](https://www.instagram.com/p/Biua-j8ApsI/) is one of him and Alexis, his aunt pulling them in, one in each arm, and David’s eyes are wide and he looks thoroughly unimpressed. Patrick lets out a wet, happy laugh. “You still make that face now,” he says, voice cracking, and David bites the inside of his cheek, nods against Patrick’s shoulder. 

There’s [one](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bl-22teg4VX/) of him in a yellow rain jacket, grinning wide, a beanie pulled right over his head. [One](https://www.instagram.com/p/BVfGqOlAt7r/) of his dad holding him, both of them making silly faces for the camera, mugging together. He watches Patrick scroll and feels so fucking warm inside, and it’s not hard, sharing this part of himself. Letting Patrick see. And yeah, maybe their old lives had been different, but maybe not all of it, all the time. Because Patrick’s looking at a [picture](https://www.instagram.com/p/BNsAztWj23O/) of David sitting on the sidewalk in a gray t-shirt, missing a tooth and looking off in the distance, and he can see in Patrick’s face that he’s realizing this too. 

And just like that, David feels a little bit of that distance between that life and this one sew itself up. Maybe it won’t feel quite so hard to share the next thing, or the next, now that they’ve talked about it. He hopes it won’t be, hopes that maybe he has a shot at getting better at this. 

Patrick sets the phone down after that one, letting out a deep breath. When David looks at him full-on, his eyes are a little wet, overwhelmed. He gets a hand on the back of David’s neck and kisses him, fervent. Patrick lingers for a second when it’s over, catching his breath, and then pulls away just a little, enough so he can gaze into David’s eyes. “Thank you,” he murmurs, heartfelt. 

David shakes his head even as he smiles. “You say that now,” he says, “but it’s only because you haven’t gotten to the teenage years.” 

Patrick laughs with his head thrown back, the tense weight in his shoulders at the start of this conversation long gone. 

“I’m not kidding,” David protests as Patrick tries to compose himself, making a mock-serious face. “They’re horrendous, you should be careful. Some of those could burn out your retinas.” 

“Well, thanks for warning me,” Patrick says, still smiling. “We should probably save that for another day, then.” 

“Mhm,” David agrees, reaching up to work his fingers into Patrick’s hair. “Or never? Never could also be good.” 

Patrick’s smile twists into a fond smirk. “Hey, do you think your dad could share those files with me? So I can have 24/7 access? You know what, hand me my phone, I’ll just text him—” Patrick says, pretending to reach over David, but David just groans, pulling him down into a kiss. 

David takes a deep breath as he pulls away, steadying himself to be serious for a second. “You,” he says, voice trembling slightly, “ _you_ make it easy to stay in the moment. And to think about the future.” 

Patrick goes soft and tender in response, love written all over his face. It’s nearly too much to take, so David has to kiss him to avoid looking into the sun too long, to breathe a little easier.

He slides his hand deeper into Patrick’s hair, rings and all, and tugs sharply at Patrick’s curls. Patrick gasps for a moment before his lips quirk up into a smile. There’s a breath of understanding between them, tender and gorgeous before they kiss again, hungrier than before. David holds on.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! As always, you can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wardowedidit). Come scream at me about curls, baby pictures, and _Dedicated_.


End file.
